


A Healer's Touch

by Sinelaborenihil



Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Mild Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-27
Updated: 2020-09-27
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:29:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26683708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sinelaborenihil/pseuds/Sinelaborenihil
Summary: Zevran is hurt in the final conflict in the Brecilian Wildnerness and Indira Surana offers to help.
Relationships: Zevran Arainai/Female Surana
Comments: 2
Kudos: 25





	A Healer's Touch

**Author's Note:**

> **Spoilers for the end of the Brecilian Wilds questline**

Zevran stared ahead at Indira Surana as she led him, Sten, and Alistair out of the Dalish camp and towards their own. If you had asked him mere days ago, he would have told you that achieving peace between the Dalish and the Werewolves was an impossibility. Each side was too mired in their hatred, in the gore of wounds inflicted long ago. But somehow, somehow she had done it, securing her second great alliance.  


He winced as he adjusted his scabbard. He had taken a blow from a Sylvan intended for Indira during their fight with Zathrian before the ancient elf had been convinced to stand down. In the heat of battle it hadn’t troubled him, but as the adrenaline wore off and his body cooled down, it had begun to ache. He was certain he had a massive bruise, if not a cracked rib. He wasn’t sure why he had done it. Indira was a Healer and more than capable of looking after herself. But she’d been focused on healing Sten and he’d found himself leaping in the way.  


Why had he done it?  


Certainly she was his present employer, but he would not have taken a blow meant for any other employer unless specifically paid to do so.  


“Zevran?”  


He started at her voice and glanced up to see her paused on the trail with her hands on her hips. He smiled at her, locking the pain away behind layers of will and self-control. “Yes, my dear?” he replied smoothly.  


“You’re injured,” she said bluntly, her pale brown eyes searching her face.  


“A scratch, nothing more,” Zevran said, not allowing himself to glance over at Alistair. He knew that the other Gray Warden didn’t entirely approve of him and with the Crows on his trail he hardly wanted to give the Wardens an excuse to leave him behind. He’d done his best to be useful and not ask for anything. The last thing he needed was to show weakness.  


“You were hit by a tree,” Sten said, his heavy brow furrowing. “When it attacked her-”  


“I am well, Sten,” Zevran said pointedly, digging his elbow into the Qunari’s ribs and hoping that the gathering darkness hid it. Why was he trying to conceal it? Surely knowing he’d tried to save her life would do nothing but raise him in Indira’s esteem? It would prove his usefulness. And yet he felt...odd, about the gesture.  


Perhaps it had something to do with the spark of...worry? Was it worry? The spark of worry that he’d felt when it had looked like she was in danger. It was not the concern of a mercenary, making sure that his source of gold did not dry up. It was the concern of a...friend?  


Zevran smiled blandly at Indira, even as he felt his belly give a little lurch. He did not have friends. Not anymore. The last friend he’d had-  


No...best not to think of Rinna, or Taliesen. He had an employer. Comrades at arms, even, if he was being generous. But he was under no delusions.  


“When we get to camp, come and see me,” Indira said and Zevran felt his heart sink. It had been several weeks since he had joined the Gray Wardens, and in that time they had journeyed to acquire the Golem Shale, liberated the ancient Warden fortress of Vigil’s Keep, and conquered the Brecilian Wilderness. Throughout their journeys, Zevran had watched Indira grow increasingly comfortable with giving orders.  


There was no mistaking that this was, in fact, an order. Zevran inclined his head and the four of them finished their walk in silence. Indira went to bathe after checking in with the others at camp and Zevran thought that was a good idea. He watched the direction that she was going, marking that she was headed for a shallow section of the river that flowed near their camp. Zevran frowned. That was hardly the easiest place to get clean, but that was hardly his business. He made his way towards a deep pool fed by a spring and wasted no time scrubbing himself clean in the icy water. However, he soon realized that he had made a mistake. He’d underestimated how badly hurt he was, and when he limped out of the water he found that his shoulder was almost unbearably stiff. He shivered and awkwardly wriggled into clean smalls and trousers, but found that lifting his arms above his head to put on his shirt was next to impossible. With a sigh, he trudged back to camp. Perhaps Wynne would help him.  


However, as soon as he entered the circle of firelight, his eyes met Indira’s. She was clean and in fresh clothes and one of her dark eyebrows arched upon seeing him.  


“Subtle, Zevran,” she teased, her full lips quirking into a smile.  


He sketched a bow, wincing internally as his body protested, and he knew as soon as he looked back up that Indira had seen.  


She sighed, shaking her head. “Will you please let me take a look at you?” she asked.  


He held out his arms as wide as he dared. “But of course, my dear,” he said.  


He heard Alistair snort and while Indira smiled, her eyes didn’t leave his.  


“I am well,” he repeated before beating a hasty retreat into his tent. There he stayed while the others ate supper and began to settle for the night. He quickly gave up on trying to put on a shirt, instead forcing himself to go through a set of stretches in the hopes that they would help limber up his shoulder. He was at loathe to use a healing poultice -- it was too easy to grow accustomed to relying upon them. Too easy to get weak and complacent. They had plenty, Indira was a skilled herbalist, but he had too often seen them used to control. No, better to work through the pain on his own.  


He was steeling himself to do another set of stretches that would surely hurt something awful when he heard soft footsteps and the sound of someone clearing their throat.  


“Zevran?”  


Indira. Damn.  


Quickly, Zevran wrapped his blanket around his shoulders. “Come to examine the goods more closely, my dear?” he asked, flinching inwardly at how strained his voice sounded.  


The tent flap parted to reveal Indira carrying a wineskin and cloth wrapped around something that smelled like bread.  


“You missed supper,” she said and it sounded faintly accusatory.  


“Forgive me,” Zevran said, motioning for her to sit. The only available space was the foot of his bedroll and he thought he saw her cheeks color before she plopped down and set the cloth down between them. It fell open to reveal a dense brown roll, a pale hunk of cheese, and a few of the tart red berries that Alistair had pointed out.  


Indira shrugged a shoulder. “It’s your belly,” she said with a wry smile. "Still, I thought I'd make sure you didn't want anything," she said, holding out the wineskin.  


Zevran reached for it, only realizing belatedly that he was reaching with the arm connected to the wounded shoulder. He grunted as he accepted the wineskin’s weight and saw Indira give a satisfied nod.  


“You _are_ hurt,” she said in a tone that told him he might as well be honest.  


He sighed. “It is nothing,” he said firmly.  


“Why are you lying about it?” she asked. “We may be making allies, Zevran, but we’re still mostly on our own out here. We have to be able to rely on one another.” She cocked her head. “Besides, I’d like to help, if for no other reason than to thank you for taking a hit meant for me.”  


Zevran blinked at her and she let out a throaty chuckle. “Sten told me what happened,” she explained.  


“The man cannot keep a secret to save his life,” Zevran grumbled.  


“I don’t know about that,” Indira said softly, glancing towards Sten’s usual spot by the fire. “Nonetheless, I know that you’re hurt.” Her lovely eyes held his. Lovely? When had he started thinking that? Certainly she was an attractive woman, he’d told her as much their first meeting. But lovely? Lovely was an affectionate thought.  


Well that was alarming.  


“Please let me help,” she said. “I promise you, my motives are purely selfish. I’ll never sleep if I don’t.”  


“I am yours to command,” he said with resignation, but to his surprise, Indira did not move.  


“No,” she said firmly.  


“No?” he replied, noting with alarm that the immediate denial stung a bit.  


“Zevran...I am no one’s master,” she said. “If you really don’t want me to help, I’m not going to force you.” Her hand lifted fractionally as though she might reach out to him, but then stilled. “I just want to help. I don’t like to see a friend in pain.”  


A friend. And she’d said it so easily. But surely it was merely a figure of speech, something a mistress said to put her subordinates at ease. She could not possibly mean it.  


He realized, when he saw her lips begin to fall into a frown that he had not replied. “Forgive me,” he said, as smoothly as he was able. He was proud of the fact that his voice did not betray the swirl of emotions within him. “I am not accustomed to being referred to as such. A lover, perhaps. A companion. A...weapon. But a friend? Such things are liabilities in my business.”  


“I was given to understand that is no longer your business,” she retorted, but the crinkling at the corners of her eyes told him she was teasing.  


“Ah, hermosa, a dagger does not cease to be a dagger simply because it has been sheathed.”  


“True enough,” she said. “But we are getting away from the point. Will you let me heal you?”  


“Will I be allowed to rest if I do not?” he teased back, wanting to dispel some of the tension that had sprung up around them.  


She grinned at him, but quickly grew serious. “If you want me to leave, say the word,” she said. “I’m only trying to help.”  


To his surprise, Zevran found that he very much did not want her to leave. “I would be a fool to turn down the ministrations of a beautiful woman,” he said. With that he allowed his blanket to drop, hoping to catch the self-assured Warden off-guard and regain some semblance of even footing. He noted with some pleasure that her cheeks colored further, but the way her eyes swept him was clinical.  


“Turn around,” she ordered.  


With a sigh, Zevran picked up the roll and cheese and painstakingly did as she asked. A lifetime in the Crows had the hairs on the back of his neck standing up. He was reasonably sure that even in his compromised state he was able to handle Indira in a purely hand to hand match.  


But she was a mage.  


And a good one.  


Then again, if she wanted him dead, she hardly needed this pretense. He was sure Alistair would be happy to part him from his head. And Sten...well, he knew that the qunari would follow Indira’s orders.  


“Is it all right if I touch you?” she asked.  


Zevran blinked, startled by the request. The few times he’d been healed with the Crows he’d had no choice about it. His body was moved and manipulated will he or not. He was a tool to be kept and honed. Tools didn’t get a say about their whetstones.  


“I could hardly deny you,” he forced himself to say, wincing at the roughness he heard in his voice.  


“You _could_ ,” she said. “It will make things a little harder, but if you don’t want me to touch you, I won’t.”  


Zevran felt himself stir in his trousers, realizing that he very much wanted her to touch him. “I place myself in your lovely, capable hands,” he said, managing a portion of his usual aplomb. He waited, but to his surprise, she did not begin.  


“Is that a yes?” she said.  


He glanced at her over his shoulder, then swore when the muscles protested. “It is,” he replied. “Yes. You may.” He was surprised to find his own cheeks warming with a blush.  


“Thank you,” she said, and then placed her palms on his back.  


Zevran hissed at the sudden warmth, feeling the hairs on his arms stand. Behind him, he heard Indira give a soft laugh.  


“Sorry,” she said, her fingertips gently probing. “It’s like that for most mages. Always warm. Is this where the Sylvan hit you?” she asked, her clever fingers honing in on the worst bruised spot.  


Zevran grunted by way of answer, clenching his fists.  


Her hands smoothed over the spot and Zevran felt the healing magic began to flow into him, somehow warming and cooling at once. It coiled around his aching bones and muscles, chasing away the inflammation and soothing the sharp edges of pain.  


“Mierda,” he breathed as her hands shifted from his shoulder blades, one going up to his neck and the other lower down his spine. The feeling of her fingertips at the base of his skull sent a shiver through him that had nothing to do with his state of undress and he was suddenly uncomfortably aware of how tight the front of his breeches was getting. Surreptitiously he pulled the blanket into his lap to conceal his arousal, feeling unaccustomed shame. She was doing something kind for him, something genuine, he did not want to betray the kindness and trust by making her uncomfortable.  


He felt a knot give way in his neck, allowing his shoulders to finally sit even, and he could not keep from letting out a little moan of pleasure. “Dios,” he whispered raggedly. “My dear, I fear you are wasted in both the Circle and the Wardens. Back in Antiva you could make a fortune as-” he trailed off as her hand stilled, abruptly aware of what he was implying.  


“As a whore?” she asked in a curiously neutral voice.  


_Mierda, mierda, mierda,_ Zevran thought. “I did not mean to imply-that is to say-”  


“Peace, Zevran,” she said with a soft chuckle that sent relief flowing through him. “I’m flattered...I think.”  


“I meant no insult,” he said, hoping fervently that she understood.  


“I know,” she said. “I’ve actually thought a lot about how healing could be combined with techniques like massage to facilitate faster recovery. I was writing a thesis on it when...well…”  


“When?”  


She sighed and her hands disappeared from his back. He found himself surprisingly sorry at the loss. “When I was forced to leave the Circle.”  


Zevran turned to face her, sitting cross-legged and breaking his roll in half. He offered her half, but she waved him away and took a sip from the wineskin. “How is it feeling?”  


He stretched his arms over his head and rolled his neck, amazed at how limber everything felt. The pain was not completely gone, but it felt like the wounds had had several days to heal, rather than a few hours. “You are a wonder,” he said honestly. “I have never felt a healing so”...tender was the first word that came to mind. “So gentle,” he finished.  


She gave a little smile. “I prefer to do things that way,” she said with a little shrug. “It’s easier on the body when it’s just encouraged along, rather than forced.”  


“A good practice in many things, I have found,” he said, hoping to make her smile. There was a sudden sadness after her mention of the Circle.  


“True enough,” she said. She glanced at the tent flap. “I should let you rest,” she said.  


“Stay,” he said, catching himself before he reached for her hand. He smiled at her. “I am not so easily worn out, my dear Gray Warden.”  


She smiled. “You didn’t just spend an hour pouring magic into a stubborn elf who doesn’t know how to ask for help,” she retorted.  


Zevran blinked up at her as she rose. “An hour?”  


She nodded. “Best I can tell, anyway.” Her expression turned stern, but her eyes were twinkling. “Go to bed,” she said. “You don’t feel tired this second because a lot of my energy is still inside you. But trust me, in a couple of minutes you’re going to crash.”  


He rose, grateful that as his body had relaxed into her ministrations he had softened enough not to embarrass himself. “Thank you, Indira,” he said, surprising them both by using her name rather than one of the many endearments he rotated through. “Truly. I am not accustomed to such kindness.”  


The warmth in her smile hit him like a punch to the gut. “You’re welcome,” she said, holding his eyes for just long enough for...something to pass between them. Then, outside, Revasan barked and the spell was broken. “Go to bed,” she repeated before she was gone, leaving his tent smelling faintly of juniper.  


Zevran sank down onto his bedroll, tucking it around himself and draping his forearm over his eyes. _You are voyaging into perilous waters, Zevran,_ he told himself. Still, as his body remembered the sensation of Indira’s touch, Zevran found that he was looking forward to the journey.

**Author's Note:**

> Feeling the hurt/comfort energy this afternoon and had to get this out of my head so I could work on other stuff. Hope you enjoyed some pure fluff!


End file.
